Will You Follow Me Into Fire?
by Carly Sullivan
Summary: This story reflects on Marcus' decision in the last days of the war against Clark.


Will You Follow Me Into Fire?  
  
  
  
The droning suspiration of the machine vibrated through the medlab, the only   
audible presence. The technicians were, he thought, still breathing. He hadn't   
meant to use deadly force. He could see one of them if he concentrated, and   
yes, the chest shuddered. Still alive, but not conscious now, nor likely to be   
for a long time. Time enough to do what must be done.   
  
It didn't hurt. That surprised him. He had imagined that there would be pain,   
that it would be difficult to let the machine do its work. Oddly, all he felt   
was a growing somnolence, rather pleasant really, and an escalating   
disorientation. Reality, memory, dream, and desire all swirled together now,   
leaving him unsure which was which, and less sure if it mattered.   
  
He looked at her now, startled by the effort it took to turn his head. "I will   
never regret this, my love, " he whispered. "Never."  
  
"Never?"   
  
His eyes flew to hers at the sound of that precious voice. That infinitesimal   
motion set the room whirling about them, her beauty his only anchor. In her   
face, he found wide-eyed astonishment and the tiny pucker about her lips that   
told him he had made her laugh, although she'd never let him see it.   
  
"You mean you've never...?"   
  
The room resolved into its parts, and on the edges of his mind he realized that   
medlab had become the bridge of the White Star, and she whom he had held in his   
arms now sat in the chair opposite him. He blushed again, as he had done that   
first time.   
  
"No, actually," he replied, struggling to keep some composure. "Never found the   
right person. Until now."   
  
A voice in his mind protested, sure that the memory was distorted, but another,   
unsure what was memory and what truth, hushed it. Susan was awake, alert, well.   
Nothing else mattered. She was speaking again.   
  
"Zog?!?" she demanded. "Zog what?"  
  
"Zog?" he echoed. "I didn't say 'zog.'" At least he didn't think he did. He   
hadn't even thought 'zog.' He had thought 'boff,' but he was fairly certain he   
hadn't said it aloud.   
  
"They said 'zog,'" she answered, turning on him in exasperation. "Zog yes? Zog   
no? Zog what?"   
  
The bridge of a white star, but a different White Star, a different time, a   
different place. Had he lost the moment yet again? But she was here, she was   
alive.   
  
"Who knew they were French?" he quipped, desperate to see her smile again.   
  
"French I could handle! I speak French. This gibberish makes no sense to me."   
  
The voice of protest whispered in his mind again. She had never said that, had   
she? No, none of this was real. This was not happening. He pushed outward   
with his mind, searching for the sites of medlab, the feel of her body in his   
arms. He wanted that. Her warmth, her softness, her reality. He wanted to   
smell her hair, to feel her breath on his skin. They were not on the White   
Star. He knew that. They were on Babylon 5. But she was speaking again.  
  
"Hatrack ratcatcher," she said firmly. It was his turn now to hide a smile.   
Here in the hallway of Babylon 5, she demonstrated for him her knowledge of   
Minbari. "Brickbat lingerie," she added. He was appropriately impressed. She   
spun on her heel and strode through the corridor.   
  
There was something wrong with the memory. He knew it even before the whisper   
in his mind. Where was Delenn? She should be here.   
  
He galloped off after Susan, only to have her spin and come back toward him. He   
opened his arms, ready to enfold her, to come back to the reality of medlab.   
She pivoted and moved away again. The hallway melted in a surreal wash then   
solidified again into the White Star.   
  
"Do you always pace like that?"  
  
"How would you like me to pace?"  
  
"I would change nothing about you, beloved." He had thought it then, but he   
hadn't said it. Could this dream change the past? Could he find a way to tell   
her, just once, before...  
  
That sound. He wanted that sound to stop. It had been there through all his   
dreams, nagging, grating, an unnamed hum on the edges of his consciousness.   
What was it? Some sort of apparatus, some engine.   
  
She was there now, standing over him, waking him, dream reversing reality. She   
was the beauty sleeping helplessly in the medlab, he the prince come to waken   
her with a kiss. Wasn't that how it was supposed to be? What was this?  
  
The noise again. The White Star's engines. His shift on the bridge now. Hers   
over. Look at her. So tired. So beautiful. "You are the most beautiful woman   
I have ever seen."   
  
Puzzlement squinted her eyes. She did not understand his words. Not yet.   
Someday she would be able to say 'hatrack ratcatcher,' but not yet. She asked   
what the Minbari meant.  
  
"My words are inadequate to the burden of my heart." It was not a translation,   
but it was not altogether a lie. There were so many things he needed to teach   
her, so many things to explain. Someday.   
"I actually think I have come up with a way to explain the organizational   
structure of Babylon 5 using the Ottoman Empire as a model. It gets a little   
confusing around this bit here, but one has to start somewhere."   
He relished her little giggle, savored the warmth of her body beside his on the   
sofa. One has to start somewhere.   
"Now then, here's you right here at the heart of everything, and why not?"   
Susan at the heart of everything, and Susan in his heart forever.   
"And here is me." Did she know it was more than just a reference to a chart?   
Did she understand it was his gift of self?   
"Here's my mom and dad. There don't actually have anything to do with it. It's   
a very good picture of them, don't you think?" Odd that at this moment he had no   
thought of family, of his parents, of William. Would he see them again? He   
wished they could know her.   
He looked down at her now, sleeping silently there. Back to reality. When did   
that happen? It was time, he knew. Time to leave, time to say...  
  
"You'll never know."   
  
Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled, then frowned as she realized where they   
were. He realized too, terror tightening his gut. The White Star again. The   
last time.   
  
He tried to stall her, to keep her here, to prevent what will come if she goes   
to the bridge. She paused for only a moment.   
  
"I know what you said. 'You are the most beautiful woman I have ever known.'   
Thank you, Marcus."  
  
"Susan, I love you." He didn't care anymore if it wasn't real. He had to tell   
her, at least this once. "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever known,   
and I have loved you since the moment we met."   
  
With every shred of will remaining to him, he bid them back to medlab. It   
wasn't enough to say it in a dream. He had to tell her, had to let the real   
Susan know how very much he cared.   
  
He felt the warmth of her body against his, heard the hum of the machine doing   
its work. Soon. Soon, the work would be done. He had to do this now, say this   
now, before it was too late. Gently, he stroked her cheek. "I love you,   
Susan."  
  
"I know." Her voice was light and full of life, and joy rang in the words,   
though tears ran down her cheeks. "And I love you, Marcus."   
  
He tested his senses, frantically praying that this be real. All that he had   
ever wanted to say tumbled in his brain. Only a few words escaped his lips.   
"Goodbye, my darling."  
  
"No, Marcus! Don't leave me, " she cried, reaching up to slip her fingers   
through his hair. "Stay with me, darling. Stay with me always."  
  
He couldn't believe his ears or his eyes. Couldn't believe, wouldn't believe.   
He reached up, intertwined his fingers with hers. He felt the warmth of her   
hand in his, felt the motion of her body as she drew him down for a kiss. It   
was real. She was alive. And she loved him. But now...now....  
  
The anguish he felt as he lifted himself from her embrace was partly in the   
body, mostly in the heart. "It's too late now, darling, too late for that."   
His words intertwined with the whisper of the machine.  
  
"No, Marcus," she pleaded. "They're coming now." In the hallway outside medlab   
there were voices and the sounds of confusion. "They can help you. They can   
save you. We can be together now." He thought she was trying as much to   
convince herself as to convince him. "Marcus, don't die on me." He smiled at   
the Commander's order. One last chance to look upon her. One last chance.   
  
"Navigational controls are damaged. We can't maneuver." Was that what he had   
said? Why did they keep coming back to the White Star? Why here? And God, no,   
not now.  
  
His eyes flew to her, locked on to her just as she turned to him. Ever the   
soldier, all she thought of was the battle. She wanted alternatives,   
strategies. Ever the commander. Her back to the viewport, she couldn't see it.   
  
"Susan!"  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Damn!" Franklin's expletive encompassed all the chaos spread before him in   
medlab, even before he could take stock of it. The security officers and   
medtechs who jogged in his wake fanned out around the room, tending to shattered   
bodies and broken equipment. Franklin went straight to Ivanova's bed.   
  
"Dead." The word seemed to echo, coming in turn from medtechs bent over their   
fallen colleagues, finally from Zack Allan, at the other side of the bed. "He's   
dead, Doc. We're too late."   
  
Franklin only nodded. Too late. He turned away from Ivanova's silent form,   
moved around the bed to where Marcus had set the machine. As Allan watched, he   
inspected the apparatus, checking its connections and settings. When he raised   
his eyes, they fell on Zack, but Allan knew they did not see him. An explosive   
kick from Franklin sent the machine hurtling into a wall, one more piece of   
debris. The doctor said nothing.   
  
Together Franklin and Allan prepared Marcus' body for the morgue, detaching the   
cables, stretching him out on a gurney. Techs took control of the stretcher,   
wheeling it away. Dead.  
  
Franklin turned back to Ivanova's bed, studied the figure there in repose. He   
had not often seen her so. Wordlessly, he lifted the blanket that had slipped   
from her when he attacked the machine, and gently pulled it up over her head.  
  
"Take her too," he nodded to the technicians nearby. "What a waste!"   
  
"You mean after all that, the machine doesn't work?" Zack asked incredulously.   
  
An exhausted Franklin leaned against the bulkhead and shook his head. "The   
machine works. The pig-headed idiot didn't have it hooked up correctly. He   
drained the life from both of them."  
  
  
  
"Navigational controls are damaged. We can't maneuver." Was that what he had   
said? Why did they keep coming back to the White Star?   
  
Again.   
  
And again.   
  
And again. 


End file.
